Prudence does not save us, but shows us pictures of our destroyers.
A small boy puts his hand on the wall, and looks down intently as he wriggles his toes. The birth of thought?
The morose one refuses to smile even when he has just had his teeth cleaned.
The flesh of past lovers looks both familiar and strange.
Minds will wander even during the Last Judgment.
We are more tied to our faults than to our virtues.